


heavy rain

by wordtheef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, F/M, First Time, Hotel Sex, Loss of Virginity, Modern Era, Post-Canon, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: post-Stoneheart, they get a hotel room. and maybe (later) they'll get breakfast.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 28
Kudos: 221





	heavy rain

She woke slowly, the sound of heavy rain against the window a lure leading her back to sleep; and for a moment she could not remember what made her so sore. Her hips ached and so did her wrists, and ...

The bathroom mirror showed a bruise on her collarbone, and there were others. One at the top of her thigh, and another on her breast just below the nipple. Yellow shadows bloomed on her wrist, where he’d held on, pressed into her with his four fingers and thumb.

She turned on the shower.

The water rattled up in the pipes and the pressure was terrible, but it was steaming hot and she stood there until it drained to lukewarm, letting the blood beat in her head, pretending last night hadn’t ever happened.

She was sore.

Why didn’t anyone warn her of that? _It hurts, Lady Brienne,_ her septa had said. _You will bleed like you’ve cut yourself._ And once, when she had caught Brienne looking at a new dress and smiling: _You’ll never be beautiful or even middling. Men will only want you for your lands and what’s between your legs, and that’s best to know now. Don’t lie to yourself._

But she hadn’t lied to herself, had she? No one could say she’d lied. _He doesn’t want me,_ she'd told herself, perfectly aware of it. She had never thought _I don’t want him._

Did she still want him, after last night?

She wrapped one of the thin towels around herself. It did not meet at the edges, so she had to choose what to show and what to conceal. Not that it mattered. He’d seen all of her already. He had touched her.

She had touched him.

You are a fool, she told her reflection. A shameful fool to want him.

He would be gone when she came out, and then she could ... what?

Go home.

The thought was too much to give in to, she’d start crying if she did. Worse: she’d give in. _Home._

So what if she did leave? The Stark girls were dead or as good as, their mother was dead -- again — and Jaime was returning to his family.

And her father ... well. He at least would be glad to see her.

So Brienne opened the door and stepped into the room. A little puff of steam came out with her and for a moment she could not see anything except that the bed was empty, he was gone: and her heart constricted with relief and shame and grief and gratitude.

Then she saw the figure by the window, and her heart expanded again.

“You took long enough,” said Jaime, who was already dressed. “I thought you’d drowned.”

“No.”

“Save any water to drown me?”

No. Not this time. She found her dirty clothes — jeans by the bed, t-shirt crumpled there too where he’d tossed it, and her underpants ... they were ... where.

Where?

“Looking for your panties? They’re probably still in the sheets. It’s just tangled up. Wench, stop tearing things apart. Stop. You’ll find them.” His hand was on her shoulder, her neck, touching and calming her as he would a fractous horse. “Stop,” he said again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

His face changed. “Obviously.”

“Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

He stepped back; his hand fell away. “I marked you,” he said. “Your neck, your shoulder ...”

“So?” She tugged on her shirt and pulled on her jeans over her bare skin. He’d left more behind than just a few bites.

“I didn’t realize I’d done that.”

“Got carried away?”

“Yes,” said Jaime. “I did.”

“Bruises fade.” She shook out the duvet and yes, there they were: her old stretched-out panties, stained now with what he'd done. What they had done, together.

She wanted to do it again.

  
He’d pulled her close with one hand, reaching around with his right arm when she was near enough, nudging apart her legs with his knee until she gave in and straddled him, one hand clenched in his hair and the other scratching at his shirt, his back, feeling him hot and already hard despite who was on him, despite what she looked like; he’d shifted up against her and when she gasped, he made a sound like hunger or rage, growling her name.

Then he was above her on the bed and she reached between them to rub at his cock, turning away her face when he tried to kiss her. He didn’t want that, not really, and Brienne didn’t want to be lied to tonight.

“Let me have your mouth,” he said.

“You don’t want it.”

He bit down on her throat instead, it was just this side of too much; she arched up, moaning, rubbing her thumb. There. He shuddered.

“Bad?” she said.

“Never.” He was holding himself up on his right arm and elbow, sliding his hand against her belly, catching the nipple between finger and thumb.

She swore.

He bent his head down and licked. “Too much?” But he was smiling a little, he knew —

“Fuck you, Lannister.”

“Soon,” Jaime had said.

And then —

  
“There’s coffee down in the lobby,” said Jaime. Even unwashed and unshaven, sex-rumpled and wearing yesterday’s clothes, he was beautiful. He rubbed at his chin.

“I’ll buy you breakfast somewhere, if you’d rather.”

“I don’t need your money.” She did.

“I’m not paying you for last night -- I don't have that kind of cash. I’m just getting you a couple of eggs and some toast. Maybe bacon,” he said, contemplative.

Brienne’s hands stilled on her shoelaces. She was so goddamn hungry. Bacon and sausages, dripping with fat ... and a slice of toast to mop it up.

“Is that a yes, Tarth?”

“I might allow it.”

“Generous of you.”

“You helped me out.”

“In the forest?” He gave her a sharp look. “Or in bed.”

She turned red -- that at least hadn’t changed. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

She didn’t remember when he first kissed her, when she’d let him. Before they started to fuck. She still had her underpants on then but his hand was there inside them, inside her body, teasing and seeking, dragging the wetness up, making her hips lift off the bed as she swore at him, trying to make him move where she wanted it; he’d laughed again — oh she _hated_ that laugh --

He laughed at her and he kissed her and the warmth of his mouth and the slip of his tongue and his fingers moving in the wet while his cock pushed against her thigh was too much, he was pushing her open while she pushed to meet him — too much and not enough, too much --

Jaime made a noise of surprise.

“Shut up,” she told him. Gods, he was kissing her again. Jaime Lannister was kissing her, she’d told him not to do it but now it was happening she could not find the mind to do anything but ask for more. “No,” she said, because his mouth was paused, and her eyes flew open. “What are you doing? Why are you _stopping?”_

He looked at her; he shifted away.

Brienne thought he would laugh again. Look at the Beauty. Instead he told her to _wait._ “Hold still. I can’t do this with one hand, not with you squirming like that.”

“If I’m moving, whose fault is —“

But he pulled down her underpants and put his thumb inside her body and the world went white; then he put his mouth on her thigh, biting and kissing up to her breasts again, not moving his hand.

She made a noise.

“Brienne?” Hoarsely.

“Yes,” she said.

  
Not pain. Not pleasure. More of a newness. A change. Like when she’d first picked up a sword and felt how it fit into her hands, her fingers curving around the hilt, her weight automatically adjusting -

“Raise your knee,” he said, soft. He sounded almost kind. She could almost believe he was kind until he pushed in further, he was inside her further, she couldn’t take all of him but he was inside and she was there around him, stretching, burning, swollen --

He dropped his head against her shoulder, dragged in a deep breath, and began to move.

Oh.

When she returned to herself, he was asleep in the bed next to her. His eyelids were translucent and his mouth was parted and when she stretched out her hand, his skin was so very warm.

We didn't use a condom, she thought: but she was already dreaming by then.

Jaime tugged on a boot and laced it quick. “Where are you headed off to now?”

“What do you mean?”

“The girls are dead —“

“We don’t know that.” But she thought he was right. Whatever candle of hope she’d followed this long had given its last flicker and gone out.

“And so is Catelyn.”

Brienne didn’t answer that.

Jaime said, “I knew her as a child, you know. We were both children. I never cared for her but I never hated her. And that thing down there in the forest —“

“I don’t want to talk about this.” She was shaking.

“That wasn’t Catelyn Stark, Brienne. It wasn’t the woman you swore to help. Catelyn is dead and so are her children and so is your vow.”

She shut her mouth on tears.

“You don’t have to stay here. You don’t need to keep looking for something that you won't find.”

“Where would I go?” _With me,_ she wanted him to say. _Come with me._ But he wouldn’t and she couldn’t. “There’s no place else for me to go.”

“Go with me,” he said. “Come home with me to Kings Landing, or the Rock. Someplace safe.”

“And be your whore?”

He rubbed his hand over his hair, making it even worse. “Let me buy you food at least.”

"No," she said: but there was something else she wanted to do, and she went to her knees.

Jaime swallowed. “You don’t have to do this.” His fingers on her cheek. "You aren't -- this isn't you."

“I want to.” She did want it. She wanted to know his taste, his feel, his sounds. She wanted to swallow him down. Whatever control he’d had last night — whatever of her expressions had made him laugh as he played between her legs — it was gone now. He looked on the edge.

She wanted to push back. Make him break. The great Jaime Lannister! She unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, and he did not resist. His hand was still on her face. _You’d love to feel like a woman,_ he'd said, and _Hasn’t anyone been strong enough?_

She rubbed her cheek on that warmth.

 _I’m strong enough,_ he’d said. A threat, a boast, a promise. And he was strong. Even one-handed, even without a weapon, he had held her down and took her apart. She was bruised, she was sore ...

“It’s alright,” he said, because she wasn’t moving. “You don’t need to —“

She shifted forward and licked him on the tip.

Jaime made a sound that would be called a whimper on anyone else. His hand flexed and slid down, cupping her chin. “Try to relax your jaw. Let it--“

“Keep talking and I’ll stop,” she said.

He shut up, except for the noises and words he was clearly unconscious of making; he leaned back, supporting himself on his hand and the heel of the stump, digging his nails into the sheets. Sweat rose and beaded on his arms, his thighs, his belly.

Brienne licked it off. She kept one part of herself against his cock all the time, to bring out more of those little noises; he seemed to like it like this. Being teased. And she didn’t only want to take him in her mouth - although yes, she did want that and she did it, sucking as hard as she dared to do it, trying to think of what his taste was like — he was like the ocean and not; bitter spring greens and not ...

She bit his thigh in return for the bruise he’d given her, and felt him leak a little into her hand; she smelled soap and sweat and the sex they’d had last night, and something else too, something earthy and dark and unafraid, oh he tasted how she’d dreamt he would and the weight and heat of him was better than she had imagined, better than she’d hoped when she thought of him and went to touch herself. _Jaime_.

She licked along the biggest vein and he swore aloud; she licked again across the slit on the head and he sat up, eyes wild.

“Stop.”

“But -“

“I want to finish inside you.”

She wasn’t sure of that. “We already -“

“Hell’s teeth, woman. Take down your jeans or I swear —“

Fumbling and hot and embarrassed again, she did.

Instead of climbing on her he spread open her legs and bent down and —

“Jaime!”

“If you talk, I’ll stop,” he said.

He was teasing her. Had to have been. It didn’t matter, she couldn’t think of what to say anyway except prayers and pleas, because he had a finger inside her and his mouth on her clit and she pressed her own hand to her mouth, trying not to yell as her body clenched and shivered.

A moment later he was shifting upwards and kissing her again, on her mouth this time. “Are you finished?”

“I — I’m — I can't --"

“Good.” He shifted his weight and pushed inside her body again and it was nothing like before. He was almost rough this time, moving hard and fast, holding up her hips until she locked her legs behind him; he slipped out and went back in without speaking, making a mess of them both.

Brienne met him stroke for stroke, and more. When he began to stumble and lose rhythm, getting close, she shoved him off and on to his back on the bed, straddling him there, lowering herself down carefully on to his cock.

He made a sound like he had when she’d put her mouth around him and Brienne understood - she had to stop moving and hold on to him, hold on, hold still just a moment and let it settle. The stretch was different this way, deeper, and it hit something that his tongue had only brushed past. 

She closed her eyes to feel it better.

Jaime held on to her waist. “Wench. How dare you sit on me and think about other men.”

“Don’t call me that. My name ...”

He angled upwards, making her gasp, thrusting into her despite her weight holding him down. “I know your name,” he said.

 _Jaime._ She was clenching on him — around him - and he arched up.

“Brienne,” he said. Hissed. Fumbled for her clit. His mouth was softly open, his eyes drifting shut despite what he’d just said. “Brienne, I want you. I want ...”

If he spoke, if he said one soft thing, she was going to agree to anything he wanted. So she rocked forward, feeling him shiver, hearing his gasp. “Don’t fucking ruin this with your bullshit,” she said: and Jaime laughed, and pushed upward again, and then she shut her eyes.

“Stay with me,” he said, or she thought he said that; or maybe it was the rain. 


End file.
